At the beginning, blogging is perhaps a revelation; the excitement of instant publication is amplified by years’ accrual of ideas too short for articles but too interesting for oblivion. It can be a refreshing, cathartic, cascade of ideas, interactions, explorations.
With time, though, a blogging mind may flag in energy, in excitement, in volume. Anxiety peeks through, and one goes about having ideas and experiencing the world, all the while monitoring one’s meta-filter (or better, blogo-filter): Is this good enough for the blog? Even when the idea arrives, it has to be handled quickly enough, for there is always a deadline, even if self-imposed. Ideas are processed with the blog in mind, like deep-frying frozen potatoes.
I miss the simmering, slowly-released flavours of ideas unpressed, uncategorized, disorganized. I miss having interesting thoughts without the blog popping up in my mind like an intruding waiter: ‘Would you like to pay the blogging bill now or later?’ I miss having ideas that go nowhere, do nothing, and exist only to scent the inner garden of my mind.
I miss not being inside a blogging mind.